


Just Like My Father's Eyes

by AuthorToBeNamedLater



Series: Keeping Up With The Raptors [23]
Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Sports, Christianity, Gen, Hockey, NHL All-Star Game, NHL All-Star Weekend, Spiritual, Sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 11:02:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1426105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorToBeNamedLater/pseuds/AuthorToBeNamedLater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hank learns that seeing people through the Father's eyes isn't always easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Like My Father's Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I have been killing myself on this story for ages, and finally decided to say "screw it" and post. I have not watched an NHL All-Star Game in recent memory, and I don't think I will anytime soon, so most of this is from YouTube videos and Wikipedia articles. No lie, I am glad to have this installment out of the way.
> 
> The 2013 All-Star Game, had it happened, would have been in Columbus.
> 
> Title is from "Father's Eyes" by Amy Grant.

“You are never going to guess what happened to me today.”

Katie Sheridan looked up from the sink as her clearly irate husband entered the house. “You’re right. I’m not.”

Hank sat down at the island in the kitchen. “I got selected to the All-Star team.”

Katie dried her hands and leaned back on the counter. “Hank, I realize you think the All-Star game is a waste of time, but this is hardly your first selection.” In fact, it was Hank's sixth All-Star selection. He'd been named to seven—now eight--but sat out one because Katie had been eight months pregnant with Charlie and another because of a high ankle sprain.

“Guess who else is on the team?” Hank continued.

Katie raised an eyebrow. “The only other person who gets you this mad is my mother, and there’s very little chance she’s on the All-Star team.”

“Vladimir Klyukin.”

_Ah yes. Vladimir Klyukin._ Pretty much the only person in the world that Katie’s outgoing, warm-hearted, people-loving husband honest to goodness could not get along with. From the beginning of Vlad’s very brief stint on the Raptors, he and Hank had not seen eye to eye on anything. Vlad had since gotten bounced from team to team and currently played for Edmonton. 

“I never thought he was that great a player,” Katie said cautiously. 

“He's fine when he's not cheap shotting,” Hank groused.

Katie nodded and said nothing, not wanting to add fuel to the fire of the legendary Sheridan temper.

Hank grabbed a Vitamin Water from the fridge. “I don't know what's up with this. All I know is someone, somewhere, thinks Vlad’s good enough for the All-Star team.” He shut the door. “Our last conversation ended with me decking him for that hit on Mark.”

Katie was surprised more of Hank’s conversations with Vlad hadn’t ended that way. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Hank took a swig from the bottle. “What do you mean? Where are the kids, anyway?”

“Downstairs doing math like good little homeschoolers. Donna took Gretzky for a walk. Now what are you gonna do about the team?” Katie repeated. “Because neither I nor the kids can live with you pacing around this house like a caged lion for the next three weeks.”

“I can’t do much about it,” Hank said, some of the tension leaving his posture.

“You could quit the team.”

“And say what?”

Katie shrugged. “Say you’re tired, you’ve been on enough All-Star teams, you’d like an uninterrupted few days at home with your family, you’d rather free up your spot for one of the young bucks.”

“I don't want to quit for no good reason.”

“How many of your rants have I listened to about too much investment and not enough yield, how the All-Star game accomplishes nothing, and whatever else you don’t like about it?”

“I got selected,” Hank said. “Without a good reason, I have a responsibility to play. And besides, it’s not exactly good form to quit because I can’t stand one of the guys on the team.” He put his Vitamin Water on the table. “Call it a twisted sense of loyalty to the league that's paid my salary for the last 20 years.”

Katie smiled.  _That’s my Hank._   “Are any other Raptors on the team?”

“Yeah. Ronny is. And Mikey.”

“So just stick with them,” Katie advised.

“Yeah, they can be my buffer,” Hank said flatly.

“OK, honey, but is this going to have you in a foul mood until the game is over? Because if it is, I’ll call the NHL myself and quit the team for you.”

“No, sweetie,” Hank promised. “I played with Vlad for half a season. I can handle the All-Star Game.”

.

.

.

There were certain things that Hank Sheridan did not understand—Democrats, atheists, women, why anyone would ruin perfectly good Coca-Cola with rum, and why someone had thought it a good idea to put an NHL franchise in Columbus, Ohio.

Hank entered the lobby of the All-Star team's hotel. Ohio's unending flat ground was a stark contrast from the majestic mountains of the Pacific Northwest. _Katie would like it here_ , Hank thought. Growing up in South Bend, Indiana, Katie loved the rolling, wide open prairies of the Midwest. Hank would hate it. The Colorado boy needed his mountains.

Hank was standing in the lobby of the hotel, staring out at the field that seemed to fall off the edge of the earth when a heavy clap on the shoulder snapped him out of his brooding. “Hey, stranger,” a familiar voice said. “Guess they’ll let anyone on the All-Star team these days, huh?”

Hank felt a grin break over his face. “Stevie!” He turned and wrapped the former Raptor in an enthusiastic bear hug. Steve Mosher had been a casualty of the salary cap era, a player beloved by fans and teammates who the team had to let go so they could pay someone else. Stevie signed with the Kings as a free agent following the Raptors' ill-fated trip to the Stanley Cup Final, and Hank missed the perpetually cheerful dressing room presence and fellow Colorado native. “How are you?”

“Always the same, Hank: Happy, happy happy.”

“You like LA?” Hank stepped back.

Stevie shrugged. He looked like he was going on another one of his haircut strikes. The light brown mane reached nearly to his shoulders “Weather’s nicer, traffic’s worse. Beth and the kids love it. What about you, huh? How’s the tribe?”

Hank cracked a small smile. “The family’s just fine, thanks.”

“You and Katie looking to add any more?”

Hank shook his head. “We’re pretty sure Danny’s our last one.”

“Didn’t you say that after Charlie?” Stevie queried skeptically.

“We’re getting old, Stevie.”

“Speaking of getting old, you thought about retirement?”

Hank cocked his head. “Trying to get rid of me?”

“Hey, you told everyone you were out two years ago,” Stevie said. “Just don’t want to get a real job?”

“Didn’t think it was time to go yet,” Hank said with a shrug.

“Face it, you’re going out of that dressing room feet first,” Steve said. “You want to stay in Seattle?”

“Been there 18 years. Why fix what isn’t broken?”

“I heard you and Ronny were headed for Pittsburgh. What happened?”

“Didn't end up working,” Hank said. “I never felt right about it anyway.”

“Stevie!”

“Ronny!” Stevie bounded over to greet the other Raptor, nearly tripping on another player’s suitcase in the process. The other player bent to steady his bag and Hank saw, not eight feet away from him, the one and only Vladimir Klyukin.

Hank got along with most people. He’d seen many different personalities come through the Seattle locker room—happy guys and sad guys, introverts and extroverts, womanizers and prudes, nice guys and mean guys, freaks and geeks, intellectuals and dolts who would be sweeping streets if they couldn’t clock a 90-mile-an-hour slap shot. Hank had little choice but to at least pretend to like everyone. And most everyone could be liked with a little effort.

But Vlad. Vlad was something else. He had talent, actual hockey talent, but it had never been developed. Vlad was good in a fight—many of which he started—and in many people’s opinion was something of a cheap shot artist. He was the breed of player that a kind-hearted and mentoring coach might want to develop and mature, only to find there wasn’t much to bring out.

“Hank!” Stevie called. He held up a small manila envelope. “We're roommates!”

Hank nodded and hoped his face wasn't betraying his grumpy mood. He followed Stevie to the elevator.

_This is gonna be one long All-Star weekend._

.

.

.

The next day Hank's generally cranky mood had not abated one bit.

_Katie was right. I should have declined participation._

As far as Hank was concerned, the All-Star Game was a colossal waste of time. It didn't even look or feel like an actual hockey game. The score was always high and there was no fighting or hard checking. Guys didn't want to get hurt in a game that essentially meant nothing. Once upon a time the game had offered a chance to see the greatest players face off against each other, but even that wasn't always the case anymore. A lot of first-choice players either declined to participate or got injured and couldn't go. Sometimes the “All-Stars” weren't really. They were warm bodies.

But as useless as the All-Star Game itself was, the fantasy draft had to be the worst. Fantasy sports in general just boggled Hank's mind. Was reality not enough for some people? Could the teams just be East and West and make it easy?

_ Gosh, I’m sure becoming an old fart. Does this happen to every All-Star over 40?  _ Hank thought as he sat at a table to the right of the stage at Hollywood Casino in Columbus waiting to find out if he would be on Team Sedin or Team Iginla.  _ At least I've never had to be an All-Star captain. I would totally hate this. _

Hank adjusted his suit jacket and glanced to his left. At the end of the row sat, separate from everyone else, distant and indifferent as ever.

“Does anyone know how Klook actually got here?” Someone asked from behind Hank.

Hank listened to the conversation.

“Man, I don't know,” a heavily accented voice answered. _Sounds Russian. Ovi?_ Hank glanced quickly over his shoulder. No, it wasn't Alexander Ovechkin. It was Ivan Khorkin and Jack Kendall. They both played for St. Louis.

“Maybe they're going to have a special All-Goon Team,” Kendall snorted.

Khorkin laughed in agreement. “I guess he's actually had an all right year, though. He's not a bad player, he just fights too much.”

“It's not the 'All-Right' team,” Kandall said. “It's the 'All-Star' team. Is Edmonton _that_ bad this is the only guy they had to represent them?”

“Hey, guys,” Hank shifted around in his chair. “Not here, all right?”

Jack and Ivan looked somewhat embarrassed that anyone had heard them and settled back in their chairs.

When Hank turned around he saw Andor giving him a strange look. “Are you OK?” The other player asked quietly.

“Great,” Hank answered curtly.

“Are you sure?” Andor continued. “Because you've been brooding like a teenage girl ever since we--”

The conversation ended abruptly when the assembled fans applauded, signaling the start of the draft.

.

.

.

Much as Hank disliked the All-Star Game, the skills competition offered a bright spot. There was the fastest skater, breakaway challenge, accuracy shooting which was where Hank usually found himself, the challenge relay, and the hardest shot (Hank didn't really know why they bothered with this one; Zdeno Chara from Boston won it every year). The skills competition was fun and relaxed, a chance for a little friendly rivalry. It reminded Hank of goofing off with his college teammates after the last practice of the season.

“What, no fastest skater for you, Hank?” Stevie chirped over the crowd noise while Mikey and Vlad, the first competitors in the fastest skater segment, took their places at the blue line.

Hank shook his head. “That ship sailed a long time ago,” he said. Truth be told, shooting accuracy and upper-body strength had always been Hank's greatest assets, not speed. 6' 3” and 225 pounds was a lot to move and it wasn't becoming easier as he got older.

“Yeah Mikey!” Someone, probably a former Capitals teammate, called. Mikey mimed tipping his helmet. _Focus on the task at hand, Mikey,_ Hank admonished mentally.

The whistle blew and Mikey and Vlad took off. Hank had to admit, Mikey was fun to watch. He barreled down the ice like a kid in peewees trying to outrace a bigger competitor on a breakaway.

“Look at Mikey go; he's like the Tazmanian Devil,” someone snickered as Mikey rounded the first obstacle, a set of traffic cones, and skated backwards down the boards.

Hank's eyes flicked to Vlad. He wasn't that far behind Mikey. They both rounded the second set of cones and sprinted down the ice to the finish. Mikey won by a hair, but Hank was, as he had been since he landed in Ohio, looking at Vlad.

_Dear God, he just confounds me. I don't get it. Why is Vlad on my mind so much? Do You want me to talk to him? Reach out to him?_ Vlad took his place on Team Sedin's bench.  _Are You trying to teach me something?_

Hank knew, somehow, that the answer to his last question was yes and that he wouldn't like the lesson.

.

.

.

The All-Star Game passed as usual: Lots of fanfare, lots of scoring, very little real hockey. The score ended up as 8-7 in favor of Team Iginla, meaning Hank and Ronny had been on the winning side. Mikey, the odd Raptor out on Team Sedin, took the loss.

_Well that's over and done with,_ Hank thought as he made his way through the hotel lobby, a bottle of Powerade in his hand.  _Now I can--_

Hank's train of thought derailed abruptly when Vlad Klyukin rounded the corner. Their eyes locked for an awkward second.

“Hey,” Hank said softly.

Vlad nodded in greeting.

_Best to say it now before you lose your nerve._ “Vlad.” Hank cleared his throat. “I...I'm sorry about....when you hit Mark...I shouldn't have--”

“It's all right,” Vlad said, his voice inflectionless as ever. “How is Mark?”

Hank blinked in surprise. “Uh, he's...he's fine. He's good.”

Vlad nodded. “Good.”

“I shouldn't have hit you,” Hank rushed out. “I'm sorry.”

Vlad just stared, like he didn't know how to respond.

_OK then._ Hank started back to his room.

“I did what you said, you know,” Vlad said. “I read my Bible.”

Hank almost said “You have a Bible?” but stopped himself. Instead he looked back at Vlad.

“Jesus spent all of his time with the people nobody wanted to be with,” Vlad continued contemplatively, like he was talking to himself and Hank wasn't even there. “The tax collectors and the prostitutes. He could have spent His time with anyone, but He chose them.” Vlad's eyes flicked back to Hank. “I'm one of those people, Hank.”

“What happened to you?” The question was out of Hank's mouth almost before the thought formed in his head.

_I really hope he doesn't ask what I meant, because I'm not sure I even know._

But Vlad didn't ask. He didn't even act like the question was unusual. Instead, he answered.

“Both of my parents died when I was 10,” Vlad began in that typical detached monotone of his. “I was in a hockey game when my mother dropped oil on our stove. When I left, I had a family. When I came home they were gone.”

Hank had to wonder if all this was a dream.

“I went to an orphanage,” Vlad went on. “I knew that hockey would be the only thing that got me out of Russia, so I did everything I could to be the best.” Vlad shrugged. “I suppose when there is nobody to care for you, you become somebody no one wants to be with.”

Hank had no idea what to say.

“It's OK,” Vlad said. “I know it. But you never treated me that way.”

Hank found enough oxygen to croak. “What way?”

“You never treated me like the other guys. You were the only one who treated me like I mattered.”

Vlad disappeared down the hall, leaving Hank frozen to the floor.

_Oh, God. Oh, Jesus._ Hank looked at the floor. He closed his eyes.  _Help him. Lord, please help him._

_If hearing Vlad say that hurt me, how much more must it hurt You?_

.

.

.

Andor Ronningen couldn't take it anymore. As he and Hank and Mikey sat awaiting their flight back to Seattle, Andor finally turned to Hank and asked without frills: “What is going on with you?”

Hank looked up from his Kindle. “What?”

“You. What's going on?” Andor repeated. “You've been moping around and growling like a poked bear all weekend. What is it?”

“I ran into Vlad last night,” Hank said softly. “In the lobby.”

Andor frowned. “And?”

Hank seemed to be searching for words. “It...I don't know.”

Andor could tell Hank didn't want to discuss whatever was going on, so he let it go and went back to watching the highlight reel of Mikkjel's hockey game that Inna had sent him. A few minutes later, though, Hank broke the silence.

“Vlad told me he was someone nobody wanted to be around,” Hank said.

Andor hit pause, pulled out his earbud and looked at Hank over his glasses. “That just...came up?”

“More or less.”

Andor blinked. “I'm sorry, but is that news?”

“He said that when he played here—in Seattle, I mean—that I was the only guy on the team who treated him like he mattered,” Hank elaborated.

“Wow,” Andor said after a moment.

“Yeah. Wow.” Hank put his Kindle down on his lap. “Nobody, Ronny. This guy's got nobody in his life who loves him.”

“I wouldn't go that far,” Andor cautioned.

“Wouldn't you?” Hank challenged. “You think Vlad really has any friends? Anyone he can call if he needs help in the middle of the night?”

Hank probably had a point, Andor thought, but he still didn't get why this had Hank in such an uncharacteristic funk.

“Nobody should have to live like that.” Hank shook his head.

“Vlad's choosing to live like that, Hank,” Andor said bluntly. "As much as you hate it, you can't fix that. You can't fix everything."

Hank stared straight ahead, out the window and at the tarmac. “There was a song Donna used to play all the time...'Father's Eyes,' I think. About seeing people through the eyes of Christ."

Andor had a feeling Hank wasn't done, so he just waited for his fellow player to go on.

"I think I did that--really did that--for the first time this weekend,” Hank nearly whispered. "No one ever tells you how much it hurts."

.

.

.

Katie was enjoying a rare moment of peace—Daniel was sleeping, Charlie was playing with his Transformers (which had once been Timmy's, which had once been Nate's), and the other four children were busy with their schoolwork. Katie could never decide what to do with her rare quiet moments anymore, so she was simply sitting on the couch waiting for her husband to get home. Hank's _“_ _ **At Seatac, be there soon.”**_ text had come nearly 45 minutes ago.

As if on cue Katie heard Hank's car tires on the gravel driveway. “Daddy!” Charlie called, quickly abandoning Optimus Prime and bolting for the door.

Gretzky gave an enthusiastic bark, Daniel woke from his sleep, and all the little Sheridans poured out of the basement, homeschooling momentarily forgotten as they greeted their father.

Katie went into the master bedroom, picked Daniel out of his crib, and settled him on her shoulder. “Morning. Wanna go see Daddy? Daddy's home!” She cooed at the baby, whose tears quickly turned into excited baby noises.

“Yeah, you want to see Daddy.” When Katie entered the kitchen Hank was shooing the kids off to finish school with promises to play ping-pong and street hockey as soon as they were done.

“Hi.” Katie awkwardly kissed her husband around the squirming lump of four-month-old between them.

“Hi yourself.” Hank plucked Daniel out of Katie's arms. “Hey, buddy! You miss your daddy?” He lifted Daniel up in the air, making the baby squeal with delight. “Because your daddy missed you.” Hank covered Daniel's cheek with kisses.

“How was everything?” Katie asked once Hank was done babbling at Daniel.

“Ah, you know. Same stuff, different year,” Hank said.

“And you made it through without killing Vlad,” Katie observed.

A shadow passed over Hank's face so quickly that someone who hadn't been married to him for 20 years might have missed it. “Yup. I made it.”

Katie narrowed her eyes. “Everything OK?”

Hank smiled, though it seemed a little forced. “Yeah. Everything was fine. Stevie Mosher says hi.”

“Oh! How is he?” Katie had been friendly with Steve's wife, Beth, but since the Moshers moved to LA they hadn't talked much.

“Seems good.” Hank started to talk about how Beth and the Moshers' kids were faring in California and Katie kept wondering about his reaction to her mentioning Vlad. Something told her now wasn't the time to bring it up.

_Maybe later._

 


End file.
